


It Could Be a Kindness

by JaxtonsTrash



Category: Mushishi
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Gen, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, This is a running theme for me I hope no one is surprised by these tags, Unrequited Love, these two are just... soft...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:14:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29572320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaxtonsTrash/pseuds/JaxtonsTrash
Summary: “You have to promise me before I’ll tell,” Adashino says drunkenly, pressing a finger over his lips.The mushishi frowns at him. “Promise what?”“That you’ll never share this, of course,” Adashino laughs as he answers. The sound is bright, delighted. “Youcan’ttell.”Questioning his better judgement, Ginko nods again, slowly. “I promise I won’t tell.”Adashino smiles. It’s too broad, too filled with glee. Too drunk for the sunlight left yet in the sky, but Ginko doesn’t speak of it. “Good. I’m only telling you because I trust you, you know. I need someone to tell, but it wouldn’t be good if you found out.”The mushi-shi turns back, slowly, his eyebrows pinching. “IfI… found out,” he repeats.Adashino nods in return, the motion exaggerated many times over. But behind his monocle, his stare is entirely serious. “Yes, it’s the most important part.” He smiles, far too broad, too kind, too inebriated. too open. "You can't ever know it."
Relationships: Adashino & Ginko (Mushishi), Adashino/Ginko (Mushishi)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	It Could Be a Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> “If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself.” ― George Orwell
> 
> ╰( ･ ᗜ ･ )╯ hello its me jaxton once again coming at you with the theme of longing and distance and the weight of love ~~(2020/21 has been great for my mental health thank you for asking im doing very well)~~  
>  And come talk to me about yearning on tumblr by [clicking right here](https://jaxtonstrash.tumblr.com)

Adashino grins and leans back into his palms. “I should tell you a secret,” he says. His smile is carefree, and yet knowing all the same, a tinge of alcohol red against his cheeks.

A breeze passes by, scattering leaves down across the engawa and bringing with it the smell of salt from the sea below. Somewhere in the distance, down towards the village, a cicada announces itself to the evening. Closer yet is the sound of a shamisen, melody drifting carefree across the shore.

Ginko puts his cigarette down, humming as he considers Adashino’s offer. “Are you always so free with the privacy of others?”

He traces the line of the man’s silhouette, how soft it is in the light of the setting sun. How gentle he seems, how vulnerable. And yet incredibly care-free of it all.

Adashino doesn’t notice his stare; not even as he returns it. He laughs, his shoulders shaking, his grin widening and nearly-giddy. “But I _trust_ you,” he says easily, as though that explains it.

The mushi-shi looks away, down to the shoreline, tracing the shape of children as they dance along the beach. The sun is setting across the water, stretching their shadows long and soft. He wonders how long they’ve been there, and finds himself unable to remember how long he’s been sitting watching them.

When he turns back to Adashino, the man is sprawled on his back on the engawa, hands behind his head. He’s still grinning to himself, feet crossed lazily at the ankles as he wiggles his toes. Ginko wonders what it’s like to feel so content, so carefree as that-- he wonders what his friend is thinking of that makes his expression so gentle.

He asks, turning away from the shoreline and looking down at the other man.

Adashino cracks one eye open at the question, and grins with his teeth. “That secret, of course,” he says. “What else?”

Ginko rolls his eye. He wants to ask the man how much he’s had to drink, but the blush on Adashino’s skin is a betrayal-- he hardly needs to ask.

“Don’t tell me you’re not curious at all,” Adashino jibes.

For a brief moment, the mushi-shi allows himself to nod at the statement. He has a fear deep in his chest, cold and pressed away, that whatever it is isn’t a joy he could share. He thinks of the man’s proclivities for dangerous objects, and all the care he neglects to take towards himself. And yet there’s a warmth painted on his features that Ginko cannot deny, one that very much pulls at the curious part of his soul.

“What’s it about, then?”

The doctor sits up, wobbling for a moment on the engawa before he grins once more, broader than before. “You have to promise me before I’ll share,” he says drunkenly, pressing a finger over his lips. He looks very much like one of the children in the distance, eyes bright with mischief and glee at once. Clumsy and vulnerable.

The mushishi frowns at him. “Promise what?”

“That you’ll never tell, of course,” Adashino laughs as he answers. The sound is bright, delighted. It reminds Ginko of chimes. “You can’t tell.”

Questioning his better judgement, Ginko nods again, slowly. He looks down at the shoreline again, watches the children running. He wonders if he should send Adashino down after them, to run behind them and fall down in the sand. “I promise I won’t tell.”

Adashino smiles. It’s too broad, too filled with glee. Too drunk for the sunlight left yet in the sky, but Ginko doesn’t speak of it. “Good. I’m only telling you because I trust you, you know. I need _someone_ to tell, but it wouldn’t be good if you found out.”

The mushi-shi turns back, slowly, his eyebrows pinching as he registers the words. “If _I_ … found out,” he repeats. His mouth feels dry as he speaks, and he wishes his cigarette was still burning.

Adashino nods in return, the motion exaggerated many times over. But behind his monocle, his stare is entirely serious. “Yes, it’s the most important part.” And then he laughs again, leaning back onto his hands. He smiles, far too broad, far too kind. Far too open. “You can’t ever know that I love you.”

“I…” Ginko swallows. The porch warps for a moment, the wood tilting beneath him. He hears the words play over in his head, an echo of an echo. He shakes his head, mechanical. “I can’t know.” He wonders if he’s had too much to drink as well, with the way the world is tilting around him.

But he knows he’s sober; he can feel it in the beat of his heart.

Adashino laughs again. “Good. Can’t you imagine how embarrassing that would be for me if you did?”

Ginko hardly hears the words; all he hears is the rush of blood against his eardrums. “Sure.”

“Exactly,” the man goes on, lying down once more against the engawa. He speaks as though he does not understand the weight of his own words. Or if he does, that he doesn’t care. His cheeks are incredibly flushed, but even as his words are deliberate, his expression is impossibly relaxed. “Can you even imagine the look on your face?”

“I… can’t imagine that at all,” Ginko lies. His tongue feels like it’s coated in sand, his throat pressed tight with words he’s unsure of. He knows exactly what he looks like.

“I don’t need you to love me back, of course,” Adashino murmurs, drawing Ginko’s attention back to himself. He waves a hand in the air, gesturing senselessly as he speaks. Ginko traces the lines of his fingers, his heart still pressing hard against his ribs. “I don’t need anything at all, actually. It just… weighs a lot, you know? Carrying all of that feeling around by myself.” He turns his head to Ginko, still splayed out on the engawa. “It feels good to tell someone. To share.”

“I’m glad,” the mushi-shi responds, but he’s not sure that’s right. He isn’t sure what he feels. He’s never sure.

He’s reminded of a woman in the soft moss of the mountains, asking him not to leave, and the silent moments as he registers her query. Of another in the forest, asking him to stay just as well. How had he answered them? He can’t remember. And yet somehow neither of these seem to feel quite as heavy as what Adashino is saying, neither answer quite right, though his friend speaks more gently than either of the women ever had. Ginko swallows again, the lump in his throat starting to choke him.

“What about... that woman in the village?” He tries. Anything to keep his fingers from twitching. He still doesn’t understand what he feels, nor how he feels it. “The one that brings you _daifuku_?” Everything seems like too much.

“What about her?” The words come so casually, Ginko already knows the answer to the question he had meant to ask between his words. There are worlds between them, their weights. “I couldn’t tell her this. I barely know her. Like I said, I trust _you_.”

The mushi-shi wants to laugh, a choked sound, at the response Adashino gives him. At the lackadaisical tone to it, how sorrily he misunderstood the intentions of the question. Ginko looks down at his lap as he tries to school his face, hold back the expressions he’s unsure he’s making correctly.

His heart feels heavy, but he doesn’t know why. 

“ _Oh,_ ” Adashino announces, sitting up sharply. “Oh, you were wondering if I _fancy_ her?” He wobbles where he sits, the alcohol noticeably tracing his motions. He laughs again, but it sounds more like a giggle. He waves and lies back down on the wood of the engawa, smirking to himself as he sways. His cheeks are impossibly red. “I don’t see her that way, not at all. Although, I do think she’s interested in _me_ , and I pretend I don’t know.” He frowns for a moment, expression weighted. “Is that cruel? Knowing and saying nothing?”

For a moment Ginko remembers how to breathe. He looks at his drunk friend, sprawled in front of his house, and allows himself to consider the question as it is. As he speaks it. Whether or not a silence can be gentle in the lie it hides. The omission it protects. “Perhaps.” If he said it was, what would that make him come dawn?

“But…” Adashino turns, rolling onto his side. He frowns, the expression muted and glazed over by his inebriation. “It could be kind, don’t you think? She doesn’t mean anything to me, and that’s almost a cruelty to tell her so. It may break her heart.” He hums, words slurring together. “It could be a kindness, saying nothing at all.”

“A… kindness.” Ginko tastes the word, wondering if it’s meant for him or if Adashino truly means nothing by it. If his drunken thoughts are blurring together in a way that was never meant to line up; if he is pulling meaning where there is only senselessness. 

“Yeah,” Adashino affirms. He rolls onto his back again, “like how you do to me.” He considers this, tilting his head back and forth, as though the words ought to make sense and they don’t. “You stay by me long enough for me to wonder. But never long enough that it hurts.”

At this, Ginko frowns. He finds his pulse up in his throat again, hammering against his windpipe. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“The longer you stay, the more I hate to say goodbye. I forget for a moment when you’re here, just how much I can miss you.” Adashino frowns drunkenly, but even in this sad expression there’s satisfaction beneath. A tenderness Ginko has rarely seen from him. “I’m feeling a bit weak, today. Maybe cruel. Definitely not kind. Do you think you could stay a little longer, this time?”

Ginko shrugs. He feels his toes twitch involuntarily. “I’ll think about it.”

Adashino smiles-- content, it seems, and he hums to himself before going on. “You don’t always have to leave so soon. You could belong here, if you wanted to.”

Ginko closes his own eye, lets himself fall for a moment into the blackness and into the light that lies behind his eyelids. “I could,” he considers. He feels like he’s floating, he feels like he’s falling.

“You’ve had a home in my heart for years, Ginko. It’s always been there, and it always will be. Please don’t forget that.”

His eye snaps open at the sobriety in the tone, the heaviness, the sorrow. Adashino is standing, sake bottle in hand and an unreadable expression on his face. It’s a contrast, the way his eyebrows pinch against the upward curl of his lips. The mushishi can only stare up at him, wordless, frozen where he sits. Something heavy presses against his lungs, impossibly weighted.

“I’m going to bed, now. Thanks for listening.”

Ginko swallows. “Sure. Any time.” 

He traces the lines of Adashino’s steps as his friend returns inside. The sun is still out, ticking the horizon, but Ginko doesn’t call after the other man to let him know. He feels something tight in his ribs, something that reminds him of the sound of shattering glass, the sensation of falling, the taste of metal on his tongue. He doesn’t know what to call it.

No, that’s a lie. He knows what to call it.

He closes his eye and wonders if he should tell himself the secret.

Just this once.

Maybe he should tell it to Adashino, too.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: _Ginko reads_ very _aro/aroace to me as a character, and so I feel I should say this explicitly: Regardless of how you interpret this piece, know that being loved and loving in return takes as many forms as there are people and the bonds they share, and those shapes are incredibly, deeply meaningful and beautiful in their own right-- romantic, platonic or otherwise._


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